Over the last week, my inbox has exploded with questions about the Duggar scandal. “What makes someone turn into a child abuser?” “How can I make sure my kids don’t inadvertently hurt someone when they get curious about sex?” And my personal favorite: “Isn’t everyone just being too hard on Josh Duggar? It’s unfair, he was just curious and experimenting.”

We will get to all of these questions today, but on that last one…no, people. Just NO. I mean, I’m sure he was curious, but psychopaths are often curious about what the inside of your organs look like. It doesn’t mean we excuse their behavior when they pull out your liver.

It’s not simple curiosity. He snuck into his sisters’ bedroom in the middle of the night so he could touch them without consent or repercussion. He’s ill. He needs help. But that doesn’t mean that he should be our focus today.... continue reading

By: Misty Browne

The rapid mood changes associated with Bipolar Disorder are like my favorite carnival ride: the big swinging pirate ship suspended in mid-air. As a young girl I loved the way it felt to be lifted to one side so quickly you hardly had time to catch your breath before you were suddenly swinging back the other way.

But if I relate this carnival monstrosity to the rapid shifts in mood I experience these days, I imagine myself backing away from the ride. Stumbling over other children and adults, looking for an exit. Fighting the urge to run as fast as I can away from the looming evil in front of me.... continue reading

Most people have some fear of medical procedures. We are preprogrammed to be squeamish at the sight of blood or to be upset if we see someone else bleeding. Though we tell ourselves we’re being silly, it isn’t unreasonable to be anxious about going into a room so someone can stab us with a needle. We see it as being threatened. You say, ‘I need to get this test done,” your amygdala says, “What the fuck are you doing!? RUN! She’s trying to attack us with a sharp metal object!”

This is normal, rational, and okay, particularly because we do it anyway and feel fine about it afterwards.

But not everyone has it so easy. For some, phobias make medical situations unbearable. Luckily there are a number of ways to cope. First, the basics. ... continue reading

As Mother's Day approaches, many are gearing up for celebration. Today I have a guest post from someone on the flip side of that coin. This post is for anyone out there struggling today.

By: Scarlet Hayes

The day of the year that I dread most is upon us: Mother's Day.

Don't get me wrong. There is nothing that I love more than being a mother. Having my children is the best thing I have ever done. I look at them and my heart skips a beat, much like it does with new love, except that feeling never goes away. The love of one’s children is love in its truest form.

But on Mother’s Day, I also feel a pang of emptiness, because I know that the woman who gave birth to me does not, actually cannot, harbor the same love and feelings towards me.

Contrary to popular belief, most people don’t commit suicide because they hate themselves or because they are cowards. They truly believe that their families will be better without them. For most, suicide is seen as a way out. This does not bode well for all who must suffer their loss.

But as the Dalai Lama notes in The Art of Happiness, those who want to kill themselves want to end their suffering, showing that they have at least some self compassion and self love left. I tend to take this approach and see suicidal thoughts as a last ditch effort to make themselves feel better, because somewhere inside they know they don’t deserve to be unhappy.

You want to die? You love yourself enough to try again.

But how to drive this point home? How can we help someone who is struggling with suicidal thoughts?

By: Byron Hamel

For years, I looked for him.

The man who tortured me.

It made sense in my brain. I’d find him. Tie him up. I’d torture him for months. And then I’d kill him. Slowly. I would tear him into pieces. I would mail him to his relatives. And to my mother. She who sat and watched. And who sometimes participated. Getting off on it. She who some of my own family still recommend that I forgive, and send her pictures of my children. They still believe I should respect her. Hold her name up high, and bring her in with open arms. This torturing malicious animal who is my mother.

This monster and her mate, the morbid sexual relief they found from beating me. And how they breathed in coitus while they made us watch as we both sat there bleeding. Five long years I lived through this. So many pieces missing.... continue reading